


Stranger Than Friction

by SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, High School AU, M/M, Masturbation, PWP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-01 05:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6502096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse/pseuds/SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"You're a filthy little slut, aren't you?"</i><br/>Castiel knows that this is a bad idea, knows he shouldn't be doing this with Dean right next to him. But he's wide awake and horny and who makes good decisions at three in the morning anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranger Than Friction

It's three in the morning, but Castiel can't sleep. He's soaking through the sheets with sweat, he's feeling his heart jackhammering its way out of his chest, and he's uncomfortably palming a growing erection. Because lying next to him on the bed, close enough that Cas can feel his hot breath on his face, is Dean Winchester. 

They hadn't meant to room together on the field trip. But all Cas's friends are girls, and Dean's in trouble, probably for getting in a fight, so here they are. Cas supposes the rooming arrangement is more of a punishment for Dean than anything else, but despite Cas's fears he's been gracious about it. He'd even given Cas one of those manly backslap hugs after tossing his own bags on the floor. Cas, of course, had turned beet red and squeaked out some awkward gibberish of introduction and apology, and thereupon resolved not to speak to Dean for the rest of the trip. That had been easy enough during the day with a whole natural history museum to hide in, and even at night when they'd stumbled into their shared bed in exhausted silence. But now...

He lets out a frustrated huff of breath. There were some things harder than not talking. His own erection, for instance. He grinds the heel of his hand into his crotch and almost manages to force himself into unconsciousness. But. There's a strip of moonlight shining through the gap in the cheap hotel curtains, and it plays on Dean's plump, shining lips and the jut of his collarbone and glints off the gold of his necklace and oh god he's inches away from Cas wearing nothing but boxer shorts and that necklace and Cas really shouldn't be doing this... He spits on his palm and slides his hand into his pants.

Castiel had never really considered Dean as a realistic sexual partner. To him, Dean was more like the sun: bright and beautiful and completely impossible to have sex with. In the few fantasies he'd allowed himself, he'd always pictured Dean solo: jacking off in the shower, maybe, and slicking his fingers with shampoo. But now, with Dean asleep right next to him, Castiel figures he'd better finish as quickly as possible. Dean bending him over a table should do the trick. 

He sets the scene, his hand already working up and down. He's sitting at a table in the library. It's empty, who cares why. Suddenly, Dean is walking toward him. He sits down at the table, and he says... He says... Cas's hand slows to a stop as he tries to think of something, anything, Dean could possibly have to say to him. Fuck it, he finally decides, let's skip to the sex. 

Dean has Castiel bent helplessly over the library table, his pants hanging off his ankles and his knees spread wide. He's already inside him, because Cas doesn't want to ruin his fantasy thinking about how much it will hurt when Dean pushes himself in. Because he won't be gentle, no- Cas has seen him throw a few too many punches to think that. No, he's rutting inside Cas like a dog in heat right now. Just one of his hands is strong enough to pin both of Cas's firmly to the table, and the other is fisted in Cas's hair, sharply pulling his head up and back. And he's bent almost double over Cas, his bare chest up against Cas's sweat soaked t-shirt, his teeth at one of Cas's exposed ears.

Cas suddenly realizes he's been making too much noise, holding in his breath and letting it out with a sound somewhere between a gasp and a low moan. Too loud. He glances nervously over at Dean- he's unmoving under the covers, his head tilted to the side and his mouth yawning open. Still asleep. Cas lays back, his hand still pumping, and tries to focus on his breathing. In, out, he thinks. In, out, in, out.

In out in out inoutinoutinout... Dean is pounding away at Cas now, every one of his huge thrusts slamming Cas's hips against the table and making him wish he could speak long enough to beg for mercy. But his lips won't do what he wants them to, so instead he moans with every blow, his trapped hands spasming with pleasure as Dean hit his prostate. It feels amazing...Or at least he thinks it does, in all his solo sexual adventures he's never found it. But anyway, Dean is ramming him and slamming him and giving him the best sex he's ever had in his virginal life and blah blah blah BLAH.

Cas grits his teeth and holds back a groan of frustration. It's been at least ten minutes of jacking himself off while thinking about the guy sleeping _right next to him_ and he still hasn't come. He rolls his eyes up at the ceiling, wondering what will possibly get him off tonight if not sex with Dean Fucking Winchester.

Dean distracts him with a small groan. Cas glances nervously over at him, but he only murmurs and licks his lips before settling back into sleep. Looking those glistening lips, Cas realizes what he needs. Dirty talk. Excited, his strokes speed up. God, he can just imagine the deliciously awful things that could pass through those lips. Maybe something like...

"You're a filthy little slut, aren't you?" Cas moans in agreement and Dean tightens his grip on his hair. "Such a whore, bending over for someone you barely know." Castiel's toes curl and his knees quiver. "But that's because you wanted it, didn't you? Wanted it so bad, my big thick cock inside you." Dean is practically pinning Cas's hips to the table with the force of his thrusts now, and he's glad, because otherwise he's not sure he'd be able to stay upright. "Now," says Dean, breathing hard, his voice edging on a groan, "I want you to come for me, you slutty little bitch. And I want you to say my name."

And Castiel obeys him before he can think, his leaking cock trapped between his body and the table, gripped in his sweaty, sticky palm. Dean is in him, on him, next to him. The table is hard, the sheets are on the floor, the moonlight is on Dean's face as Cas moans out his name.

Cas lays back, his flushed skin cooling in the open air. The room smells like come and sweat. Castiel's chest is heaving and his mind is blissfully blank. He closes his eyes and is finally beginning to drift off when he hears Dean shift from beside him on the bed.

"Look," Dean says, "I'm flattered, but could you please keep it down? _Some of us_ are trying to sleep."


End file.
